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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315782">Desideratum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy'>raunchyandpaunchy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Porn, BDSM, Fantastic Racism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Internal Conflict, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Roleplay, Smut, Thalmor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:15:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ancano has secrets. Secrets he keeps buried under floorboards and Illusion magicka, attempting to bury his shame with them. But some things can only stay hidden for so long, and when a particularly curious mage finds his secret and extends an interesting proposition, Ancano's secrets turn into something much more tangible.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ancano/Brynjolf (Elder Scrolls)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Frontier, Conquest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, everyone! This is something a little different from me, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. It started off as a spitefic of sorts, but then snowballed into something much bigger and more plot-driven than I initially intended (at first, anyway).</p><p>For anyone familiar with my other work featuring Ancano, this is an AU where that didn't happen, hah. Or maybe Vocud was the AU? I haven't decided yet. Anyway. Distinct timelines. If you've read Vocud, you'll understand why.</p><p>Anyway, please enjoy this fic, which is essentially "Ancano Attempts To Recover from Thalmor Bullshit Through Kink".</p><p>Massive thanks to Syl and Topsy for betaing this one for me!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The College of Winterhold was a far cry from the warm, fair climes of the Summerset Isles. The cold seemed to permeate every single corner of the halls, seeping into Ancano’s bones in a way that couldn’t be remedied regardless of how many blankets he slept under or Potions of Resist Cold he drank. It was bitter and unforgiving, and every time the wind whistled through the halls he cursed whichever higher being was responsible for him winding up in the miserable wasteland that was Skyrim.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had his theories. Auri-El, perhaps; upset that they’d been forsaken. Dibella, goddess of love and beauty. Sanguine, Daedric prince of hedonism and debauchery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Possibly all three, conspiring to make him succumb to and atone for the pleasures of the flesh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulled his furs in closer, trying in vain to keep out some of the chill that bit mercilessly at him. Tried to assuage the guilt and shame that seeped through him too, somehow even more biting and unpleasant than the weather. The two seemed to go hand in hand these days, and sadly, he hadn’t yet found any potion or elixir that would take the edge off the latter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were moments of relief—pockets of the day where he could let himself forget, let himself be someone or somewhere else. Hidden away in dark corners, in secluded parts of the College that others hadn’t yet discovered, losing himself in brandy and books and the smallest, most fleeting sliver of something euphoric and blissful and golden.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, just as quickly as it had come, he returned to himself; the shimmer of his skin, the resplendent piping around his robes, and suddenly golden was something different, something tarnished and restrictive and stifling. Something that told him that everything he was doing and thinking was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he cleaned himself off, feeling the shame and self-hatred wash over him once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He told himself this was the last time he’d give into the depraved, base desires he harboured, and buried the books under floorboards and Illusion magicka. But much like his desires, they never stayed buried, and he’d return days or weeks later, images of the things he’d read burning into his skull, creeping across his skin, begging him to dig them back up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stories of noblemen and their servants, pirates and their captives, temple priests and apostates, all spelled out in lurid, explicit detail on dog-eared pages. Obscene tales of men and mer partaking in the kinds of acts even the bawdier of Alinor’s pleasure houses wouldn’t dare offer, and for the briefest of moments it didn’t feel filthy and debased and sacrilegious—just something living beings <em>did</em>, as natural and inevitable as the turning of time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, it never lasted. Dread always crept back in, settling in the pit of his stomach, murmuring in his ear: </span>
  <em>
    <span>they’re going to find this, figure you out, just like they did before.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After all, Ancano knew better than anyone that the hidden parts of himself could only stay hidden for so long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been little more than a year ago, when his superiors had caught him with another Justiciar. He should have known better—any attempts at discretion were futile in an organisation that treated secrets like currency, and so they had been caught during one of their trysts, layers of carefully placed Illusion magicka melting away like spring snow. He could still feel it, picture it all; his body, sweat-soaked, fists balling the sheets, his face buried in the blankets so he could pretend the mer taking him was someone else. Caught giving in to his deepest, most shameful desires, and in a way that was the worst of the punishment—being laid bare, being known for what he was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The actual punishment didn’t come until the next day, when he’d all but washed the filth from his skin but still felt the lingering caress of it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reassignment</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the Emissary had said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>after undergoing re-education.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ancano knew what he truly meant by that, and he rankled at the way the Emissary treated it like a favour, something he should be grateful for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he should. Nobody was outright saying it, but it sat in the foreground, refusing to be ignored. Moments of weakness, while abhorrent in the eyes of the Thalmor, were to be expected. He was not the first to submit to his base urges; not even the first to be caught doing it. He certainly wouldn’t be the last. These kinds of misdemeanours were at least forgivable, provided you appropriately repented and made it through your additional training. But the only reason they were forgivable was because his coupling had been with another Altmer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Ancano didn’t know exactly what happened to mer who coupled with non-mer, but he could guess. They called it </span><em><span>reconditioning.</span></em> <em><span>A necessary procedure for a mer whose good morals and judgment have taken leave.</span></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had yet to see anyone come back from it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Having distance between himself and Alinor helped some—even having distance between himself and other Thalmor was a relief. Ancano was loath to let himself become complacent, however. Complacency was what had led him here in the first place. He’d returned to his shameful pastime earlier, memories swirling around unpleasantly in his mind, and he made sure to be especially vigilant in hiding the evidence. And while he wouldn’t let himself relax fully—he could never relax fully—he did eventually fall asleep, satisfied that nobody short of an incredibly skilled Illusion master would be able to even detect the books.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It only took until Sundas evening before he returned, lonely and bored and unable to stave off his urges any longer. The small cove in the Midden was exactly as he had left it—a solitary candle on the table, its wax adhering it to the surface; an empty wine bottle in the corner; a worn, unfilled sack covered in cobwebs. Ancano lifted the loose floorboard underneath the sack, feeling about with both physical and magickal sense until he found what he was looking for, pulling it out carefully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The White-Gold Concordat,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the spine read, its cover simple brown leather with gold filigree.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat back, breathed in the scent of the book, and opened it. Whatever security he’d believed he’d had vanished as soon as he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A piece of parchment tumbled out, neatly folded, the ink on the other side bleeding through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Ancano was sure his heart had stopped entirely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His thoughts shattered like glass, and everything narrowed to the immediate and sensate—his pulse pounding in his ears, heart now pumping heavily against his ribcage. It was hard to breathe. His vision blurred, the light of the candle swimming in his periphery, and for a moment he felt he was floating outside himself, spectating his own downward spiral.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took what felt like hours for Ancano to reach down and pick up the parchment, opening it as if the damnable thing would explode. For someone to have found this, found </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know who you are,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the note read. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But you need not worry. I’m not Thalmor, nor am I affiliated with them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This did nothing to assuage the panic rapidly rising within Ancano. Bile bit at his throat, his stomach churning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, he kept reading.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I do not leave this note in an attempt to alarm you, or to leverage any kind of personal or political gain. I do, however, wish to extend an invitation of sorts. Something that could make fantasy a reality, if you were amenable. If this sounds of interest to you, or even if you simply wish to know who happened upon your personal effects, I shall be waiting in the Arcanaeum tomorrow evening.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A friend</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the very bottom of the note was a symbol—three corresponding spirals joining at one central point. Ancano had heard Nords refer to a similar symbol as a triskele, once. He’d seen it before elsewhere, but he struggled to recall where—within the College, certainly, but he failed to place it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the surface, this proposition seemed incredibly risky, and yet… whoever had left this obviously wasn’t attempting to be careful. The invitation, the symbol—even the handwriting, he was certain he could trace without too much effort. This person clearly wanted Ancano to find them, whether by their original suggestion or alternative means. Whatever it was, Ancano was certain of one thing—it definitely wasn’t a Thalmor plant. It was entirely too sloppy, for one; if the Thalmor were trying to catch him in the act, they’d conduct their operation with far more subtlety and precision than this, and if they were planning to take him in for the books alone he wouldn’t still be sitting here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The discontent in his stomach settled some, and he stood up apprehensively, smoothing his robes. He gave the note one last read, ensuring he’d committed its contents and details to memory before the gout of flame that enveloped his hand turned it to ashes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t certain what he would do tomorrow, but he did know one thing: he would need to find an alternative hiding spot for his novels.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The answer came to him when sleep refused to. What better place to hide a book than in plain sight? With some simple Illusion magicka, he could transform each book into a facsimile of another, more civilised work, and simply place them on the shelves of the Arcanaeum. At this time of night, it was simple enough to accomplish; without the prying eyes and ears of the College’s residence, he disguised the books and placed them on the shelves. Urag had barely looked up at him when he had informed him he was returning some of his items. Hardly a surprise; he’d deliberately chosen books that were commonplace. They were no more worth Urag’s time than the scrawlings of the town drunk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doubted they would have moved from their spots on their respective shelves by the time he visited later, but even if they did, he knew for certain whoever had them wouldn’t be able to see their true contents. Which offered some solace, but there was still the rather more pressing matter of who would be waiting for him in the Arcanaeum. Upon leaving the Hall of the Elements, Ancano had examined as many surfaces and tapestries as he could without drawing attention, in the hopes of spotting the sigil that had been on the letter. Looked in the Hall of Countenance, too; eyes darting keenly in the dark in an effort to find the missing piece. By the time he reached his sleeping quarters, the pale light of the moons pouring in through the window, the answer had still not revealed itself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Resigned to an evening without restful slumber, Ancano instead opted to meditate. Usually this unearthed what investigating would not; allowed him to separate his usual train of thought from the hidden things beneath. Taking a deep, measured breath in, he let his mind empty, his body sink into the mattress underneath. Calm. Comfortable. Breathed out, letting the subtle noises of night drift into his consciousness; the wind cutting through like a blade, over the vast almost-still of Nirn turning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly inhale, as the world spins on its axis. Each breath is a gift. Slowly exhale, bathed in Auri-El’s light. Let it guide you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You have lost your way, Justiciar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time is nebulous, here; measured merely by the time between breaths. Ancano can’t remember the last time he saw the sun or moons; the last time he felt the wind or rain on his face. Barely remembers the feeling of anything other than gnawing hunger, aching muscles, chest rising and falling as he breathes steadily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You must learn how to control yourself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Want and need are different things. Want is the cold, hollow emptiness inside Ancano that begs for the easy comfort of a lover, the caress of their skin against his. Need is the sting of the fronds against his back instead, reminding him that want can be unlearned, eliminated. Want is something vestigial and unnecessary. Need is vital, food and water, received only after enough want has left him to allow it to fit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Auri-El shows mercy to those willing to repent.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano reads scriptures aloud until his voice gives out, and then he writes them fastidiously on parchment until his hand cramps and he is able to recite them from memory. After a while, they cease to hold meaning; merely a collection of words strung together to be memorised and regurgitated. As long as he says them with enough gravitas, his superiors do not recognise the difference.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You will come out of this rehabilitated or you will not come out at all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Want still gnaws at Ancano, relentless and starving, but it is merely another distraction he is able to phase out. Slowly inhale. The world continues to spin on its axis. Slowly exhale. Anything is bearable within the space between breaths.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took a while for Ancano to return to himself. Slowly, the present drifted in—the warmth of the sun against his body, chatter of College staff from the Hall proper, the steady clink of mortar against pestle. Dazed and disoriented, Ancano sat up, readying himself for the day ahead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was unsure just how much time had passed while he had been meditating, but by the time he had washed and dressed, the day was already in full swing. A rather vacuous lecture on restoration was taking place in the courtyard, and as he entered the Hall of the Elements, he overheard Tolfdir discussing magickal armour with a handful of students. It was a wonder anyone here learned anything; had they been receiving their tutelage in the college on Alinor, they would find themselves woefully unprepared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Arcanaeum was busier than it had been last night, but still relatively quiet. One or two staff members milled about, clearly lacking in anything better to do with their time. Not that Ancano was in any position to talk—ostensibly, he had been sent here to attend to the Arch-Mage, which really entailed nothing more than eavesdropping on any conversations he had with faculty and students and sending a detailed report of his findings to the First Emissary. It was a tedious and futile task, designed solely to keep Ancano in his place and out of trouble, although it seemed not to be doing its job on the latter part. Perhaps he really was defective, he thought absently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His next report was due soon, so he retrieved his quill and ink, along with fresh parchment. This, at least, would help kill some time before he was due to meet with whoever had sent the note. Turning up on time would make it obvious, hence turning up early—let them find him. He was curious just how much they knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wax seal on his report had barely dried before someone sat in the seat next to him, sitting a copy of what appeared to be, but was not, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frontier, Conquest</span>
  </em>
  <span> down on the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good evening, Ancano. I believe we have a meeting scheduled?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The identity of the note writer probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise—Drevis Neloren, the College’s resident Illusion master, cocking one silver brow at him expectantly. In all honesty, he hadn’t considered anyone within the College would be proficient enough to see through a simple cloaking spell, never mind detecting and locating the various veils of Illusion he had put into place. If it were to be anyone, he would have assumed the Arch-Mage, but he felt even that was giving Savos and his institution too much credit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Drevis smiled. “You look somewhat flummoxed. Not who you were expecting?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not entirely,” Ancano replied, cautious. “I hadn’t thought anyone in the College competent enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To Ancano’s surprise, Drevis’ smile widened. “Competency would be a threat. Competency would make us targets.” He crossed his leg over his knee. “You’d be amazed at how undetectable appearing utterly ineffectual makes you. Perhaps your organisation should try it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano wasn’t sure whether to feel incensed or deeply, deeply amused, but he’d be damned if he was going to let either emotion show. “Clearly I gave you all too little credit. So, what is it that you want?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps the question should be, what is it that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> want?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last time Ancano had been asked that question, it was a test. His well-rehearsed answer came out bereft of thought. “I have evolved beyond want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If that were really true, we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.” Drevis drummed his fingers lightly against the table, unconvinced. “You wouldn’t be trying to hide your pastime so doggedly, and you wouldn’t have taken me up on my invitation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I merely came here to find out who was both capable and foolish enough to rummage through my personal effects,” Ancano replied, the words sounding wan even to his ears. “And now that I know, I’ll be sure to measure the threat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think that’s what this is? A threat? Some sort of poor attempt at blackmail?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano sniffed. “I fail to see how it could be anything else.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose that’s prudent. However, you’ve misread my intentions.” Drevis settled back into his chair. “When I asked what it was that you wanted, I meant it. Clearly you’re searching for something within the books you read—they all seem to have a common theme.” When Ancano didn’t offer a response, his face flushing, Drevis continued. “And, as it happens, that might be something I’m able to offer you.” Reaching into the neck of his robes, he pulled out a silver pendant, removing it and placing it on the table in front of Ancano. “I’m sure you didn’t miss the sigil at the bottom of my letter, although whether you recognised it is another question.” He gave Ancano a nod, prompting him to examine the pendant further.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silver was warm in Ancano’s hand, Drevis’ body heat still lingering in the metal. The piece was simple enough—pure silver, likely Nordic in craft, no enchantments or magickal qualities of any kind. The only thing notable about it was the familiar symbol engraved on the pendant’s surface.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like all sigils, it represents something. And in this case, what it represents is… a guild of sorts.” A sly smile spread across Drevis’ face. “One that caters to the pleasures of the flesh, amongst other things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you telling me this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, for one, because I thought you might be interested,” Drevis said, shrugging. “And I know that if you try to bring this information to your superiors they’re going to ask you exactly how you came across this information, and that won’t be without its consequences for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who’s blackmailing who now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like to think of it more as… safeguarding,” Drevis said. “Mutually assured destruction.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mer was clever, Ancano would give him that. “It seems we’re at a stalemate.” He set the pendant down, sizing up Drevis as he did so. “What’s in this for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“An excellent question.” Drevis retrieved his pendant, running the chain through his fingers. “I told you I wasn’t interested in gaining any personal or political leverage, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t anything I want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> you want?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some respite from your constant snooping and meddling around the College would be good, for starters. I’m also assuming that someone who has deprived himself needlessly for years, who finally admits to what it is he wants and gets it, would generally be a more agreeable person to share space with.” Drevis draped an arm over the back of his chair. “If that’s too oblique, what I’m saying is that you might actually be somewhat bearable once you’ve had a good fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano crossed his arms. “That can’t be all there is to it. What are you hiding?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing you can’t see,” Drevis said, maddeningly cryptic. “There is slightly more to it, something that I admit is a somewhat selfish want of mine. It likely doesn’t exactly come as a surprise to you that I harbour an intense dislike and distrust of Thalmor and all their organisation stands for.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A Dunmer, at odds with the Thalmor?” Ancano smirked. “Next you’ll be telling me Nords don’t like us either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Drevis noticed his sarcasm, he failed to acknowledge it. “I don’t believe I’m alone in that regard. I think you have more in common with myself than you’d care to admit.” He raised a brow. “Certainly more in common than with your colleagues.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get to the point,” Ancano spat, trying and failing to keep the ire out of his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You dress in their uniform, spout their doctrine, perform the duties you’re given. And yet, what you want more than anything is to drop to your knees and submit to whichever being of lesser breeding will have you.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “What you want is completely anathema to the Thalmor, and that’s why you like it, isn’t it? The taboo, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrongness</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it all.” Drevis’ eyes shone, red and glinting and dangerous. “And I like nothing more than people exploring things they aren’t supposed to, as well as spitting in the Thalmor’s face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what I get out of this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t an answer Ancano was expecting. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting, but for someone to state their intentions so baldly hadn’t even featured within his realms of possibility. For once, he found himself lost for words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Think it over, sit with it for a while. And, if you are interested, tell Savos you’re willing to help him out with the next errand he’s running.” The look of surprise on Ancano’s face must have been obvious, because Drevis smiled, amused. “Oh no, he’s not part of things. I’m assuming he knows how I spend my weekends, but to be honest I doubt it fazes him.” He winked. “Probably tame compared to the things he gets up to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano was quite sure he didn’t want to think about what Savos Aren got up to on his weekends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Think it’s time for me to retire for the evening.” Drevis picked up the copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frontier, Conquest,</span>
  </em>
  <span> hoisting himself up with his free hand. “Do think over my proposition. Whatever you decide, you can rest assured nobody will be tampering with your personal effects again, even without trying to hide them like this.” With one last maddeningly smug grin, he left the Arcanaeum, leaving Ancano to attempt to make sense of what had just occurred.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five days had passed and Ancano was barely any closer to fathoming the situation he found himself in. He’d tried meditating, rereading Thalmor texts, calling upon his training. He’d finished his monthly report, ready to be sent by courier when they came to collect. He’d washed and pressed his duty blacks, sharpened his dagger to a deadly edge, polished his boots and replenished his supplies and prayed to Auri-El for any sort of guidance. He’d done anything and everything he could to either busy his mind so he didn’t have to think, or clear his head so he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, almost everything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Many of his fellow Justiciars believed in the power of self-restraint, some even taking it so far as to not indulge in pleasuring themselves—this, they believed, set them apart from lesser beings, honed their magickal abilities and allowed them to think with more clarity. Ancano had never found this to be the case. He had never divulged this to another soul, but many of his most level-headed decisions had been after he had allowed himself release, and it was this that had him in his hiding spot this evening, taking himself in hand, keeping his breaths even as he brought himself to the brink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Need and want were different things, but after a while, it became hard to distinguish which was which. How could you pinpoint when hunger became starvation, when discomfort became unbearable pain? When did it become deprivation for deprivation’s sake?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When did it help?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With one last firm pump, he came, warmth spreading out through his body and spilling over his hand. It felt vital, like the breaths he was taking, the blood pumping through his body. Like more than want.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time in days, he finally had some semblance of clarity. Want had taken him this far; perhaps he should see where else it would take him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Gentleman's Guide to Whiterun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this ended up running a chapter longer than I intended, but I wanted to get deep into the kink negotiation. Smut is coming next chapter, promise!</p><p>A huge thanks to Topsy and Mimosa for beta reading this chapter for me. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He sought out Savos the next morning, while he still possessed the temerity to do so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes,” the Arch-Mage said, too busy clipping stalks of lavender from the garden in his quarters to look up at Ancano. “Has Master Neloren filled you in on what I require?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He only told me to consult you.” Ancano smoothed the front of his robes, already beginning to regret his decision.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Savos’ shears snipped a gnarled length of canis root with a dry snap. “Very well. I require you to run an errand for me. In Whiterun.” He pruned off another sample of the root, and Ancano could smell the stringent, earthy scent of it, sharp in his nostrils. “Too long a time to have any of the faculty absent, and it isn’t something I’d trust any of the apprentices with.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of errand?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s a tree in the centre of the city—perhaps you’ve heard of it? Gildergreen, I believe they call it.” When Ancano shook his head, Savos shrugged, continuing. “It’s currently dormant, and they say it can be revived by extracting some of the mother tree’s sap, but I believe I can perhaps find a way to bring it back to its former glory without resorting to that option. Your job would be to fetch me some of the Gildergreen’s bark, in order to accommodate that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What exactly does this have to do with the College?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Call it a pet project,” Savos said, a sly smile on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it was nerves, but Ancano felt himself bristle. “I was sent here to advise you, not to be your errand boy.” He clenched his fists. To think this was a conceivable idea in the first place was beyond foolish. “If that is all you see me fit to do—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were sent here,” Savos said, placing his clippings in the satchel next to him, “to advise me and to aid me in whichever way I see fit.” He looked up at Ancano now, a despairing sort of look on his face, as if willing Ancano to understand. “For the benefit of both the College and the Dominion. Am I incorrect in thinking that this errand would fall outside the purview of your role?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technically, his role was to spy on the College’s faculty, keep an eye and ear on the one source of magickal tutelage in this mage-fearing country. It in no way said that he had to traipse halfway across said country, fetching some bark from a tree. Both he and Savos knew this—Ancano might have doubted the mer’s academic ability, but he certainly wasn’t a fool, and it was only when this truth dawned on Ancano that he realised exactly what Savos was doing. Giving him a cover, should the Thalmor come looking for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least, that was his assumption. He prayed to Auri-El he was right, or else he really was travelling halfway across Skyrim to fetch some dead plant matter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bit back most of a sigh. “You are not incorrect, Arch-Mage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very well, then,” Savos said, the faintest hint of relief sneaking into his voice. “A carriage will arrive for you in Winterhold, first thing Fredas morning. In the meantime, you can attend to any duties you have outstanding here.” The way he said it suggested he knew Ancano had none. “I believe Master Neloren also has business that takes him to Whiterun, so I suggest you defer to him for appropriate room and board. I will, of course, reimburse you for this.” He stood, brushing the soil and moss from his robes before making his way to the alchemy shelves. “I expect this shouldn’t take any longer than a day or so, but if you do find yourself delayed for whatever reason, please send word via courier.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano nodded. “Will that be all?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For now, yes,” Savos replied, barely attending. “If you have any other questions, I suggest you ask Master Neloren.” With a small wave of his hand, Ancano was dismissed, Savos’ attention now focused on his own pursuits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until Ancano left the Arch-Mage’s quarters that the reality of what he’d agreed to set in, and he wasn’t sure whether to feel giddy or outright terrified. He felt as though his bones were trying to escape his body, nerves thrumming and heart fit to beat out of his chest. How he was going to do any work at all this week was beyond him. Taking a breath, he attempted to centre himself, only to have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>giggle</span>
  </em>
  <span> escape him on the exhale.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How completely uncouth, he thought, to let something as unrestrained and childish slip out like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, he couldn’t find it within himself to care.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The week leading to Fredas was a special kind of torturous. Time seemed to drag, treacle-slow, like Nirn was stuttering on its axis. Trying to concentrate on anything was an exercise in futility, and Ancano had long since given up on trying to do any work that required even a modicum of presence of mind. In all of his years, he had never had anything quite so rare as hope, and now that he did it felt pendulous, somehow—something to be taken from him, a blade to flay him open. His mood oscillated wildly, as did his resolve to follow through on his plans, and by the time he reached the carriage as the dawn broke on Fredas he had talked himself in and out of the decision so many times his head ached.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some carefully placed muffle spells allowed him and Drevis to talk freely during the long journey, the carriage rider hearing nothing other than the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves and the crunch of wheels against dirt. This, at least, helped abate some of Ancano’s worries—that he really was being sent to Whiterun on a fool’s errand, or worse. Unfamiliar though they were, Ancano grudgingly trusted Drevis—for all the mer had a tendency to speak in riddles, he was surprisingly transparent. There were obviously still some things he was keeping hidden, but the fact Ancano recognised this was reassuring in and of itself—the ones who worried him were those that had nothing to hide, no trepidation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No real Thalmor presence in Whiterun hold, thank the Three,” Drevis explained as the snow-crested landscape began to give way to damp, dull grassland. “The Stormcloaks don’t have a foothold there yet, but a decent amount of the city’s residents are fervent enough about free worship of Talos that they might as well have.” He grinned, something goading in it. “May want to lay low there, especially around the preacher up in the Wind District.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Preacher.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ancano wagered that </span>
  <em>
    <span>obnoxious, parochial zealot</span>
  </em>
  <span> was likely closer to the truth, but then again, he was hardly in a position to be casting judgment. “I’ll endeavour to change into something less conspicuous before we arrive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A wise choice,” Drevis said, leaning back in his seat. “The carriage takes us to the meadery just outside of the city walls. I’ve some business to attend to there, and the proprietor has more pressing things to worry about than some Thalmor changing in his back room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time they arrived, the sun was retreating behind Whiterun’s craggy mountains, clouds the colour of fresh bruises scudding across the sky. Ancano’s legs ached, as did his rear, and he was ravenous, but all in all he’d had worse journeys.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This way,” Drevis said, retrieving a key from his pocket. “Shouldn’t take too long.” Rather than going to what looked like the main entrance, Drevis made his way to the door of what Ancano presumed was the boilery, inserting the key in its lock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano was puzzled as to why Drevis had a key to the boilery in the first place, and as the mer wiggled the key insistently, urging it to turn, he assumed the whole thing to be a farce in which he was the unsuspecting culprit. That was, until the door somewhat reluctantly opened, the lock yielding with a loud clank.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really should do something about this damned lock,” Drevis said cheerfully, hoisting the door open. “Shall we?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, caution and suspicion causing his magicka to simmer under the surface. Was he meant to blindly trust this mer? Drevis had made no secret of the fact he abhorred the Thalmor; there was every likelihood that the whole thing was subterfuge. And yet, here he was, ready to follow without question. Perhaps he really had taken leave of his senses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only when he stepped inside the boilery that it dawned on him what they were actually there for—when nobody was waiting to ambush him, no trappings either physical or magickal. Drevis hadn’t brought him here to change.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Drevis had brought him </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m assuming you’ve just worked it out, then?” Drevis grinned at him, cocking an eyebrow. “I thought you’d never catch on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano scowled. “You could have told me in the carriage, you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I could have,” Drevis conceded, walking to another door at the back of the room, “but where would be the suspense in </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” This door opened with more ease, leading them to what looked to be a tunnel. “Down this way. You’ll be glad to know we’ve made it in time for the evening meal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They made their way down the corridor, the cloying scent of earth and damp in Ancano’s nostrils. The damned thing seemed to twist and turn, and they approached a set of stone stairs, spiralling downward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When you said ‘down this way’ I believed it to be a euphemism,” Ancano grumbled, once again beginning to question what he had agreed to. “Surely you don’t expect me to climb down into some underground hovel?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we can hardly host this sort of thing above ground,” Drevis replied, as if Ancano was deeply stupid. “And while it might not be a palace, it’s certainly more than a hovel.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano sincerely doubted it, but he did his best to keep that to himself. They descended the stairs, candlelight illuminating their way from the hollowed-out stone, finally reaching what Ancano dearly hoped was the final door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The key didn’t falter in this one—turned smoothly, unlocking with a satisfying snick. Giving it a firm push, Drevis swung the door wide, revealing to Ancano something he never expected to see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It certainly wasn’t a hovel. Rustic, perhaps, in that Nordic sort of way; all wooden beams and cast iron, hardly pleasing to look at but undoubtedly robust. The space was much larger than Ancano had expected it to be—large enough to hold several bookshelves and armchairs, as well as a table that looked to hold at least a dozen people and enough food to feed a small army. Already the festivities appeared to be underway, everyone sat at the table talking and laughing easily as scantily-clad men and women topped up their goblets. In a strange sort of way, it reminded him of the parties the Emissary was known to throw back in Alinor, but stripped of any kind of pomp or pretension. Nobody was here to gain any kind of political or social advantage; that much was clear by the alarming yet strangely refreshing lack of posturing. Ancano wondered what that might feel like; acting in a manner that didn’t require forethought, didn’t require any sort of mask or affectation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought was shaken out of his mind when the hulking Nord sitting at the head of the table gave it a loud thump, silencing the guests. Their attention, and Ancano’s, turned not to the Nord but the woman sat beside him, something quietly commanding in her manner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My dear friends,” she said, voice clear and melodious. “It appears our guest has arrived.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano sat next to the hearth, fit to burst after the veritable feast he had indulged in. While it might not have been a spread worthy of praise back in Alinor, it was easily the best meal he’d had since he’d arrived in Skyrim, and he sat back in his chair, content. He’d mainly listened and observed during the meal, noting everyone’s reactions to his presence—unsurprisingly, there were several people who eyed him with suspicion, but there were others who appeared to be genuinely curious about him, and some who seemed completely unfazed. Adrianne, the woman who had introduced him, had explained in more detail what the purpose of their guild was—</span>
  <em>
    <span>the Sanctum</span>
  </em>
  <span>, everyone at the table referred to it as, treating the space as though it truly were somewhere worshipful. For a collective that dealt in such… unorthodox and salacious activities, there seemed to be a surprising amount of rules and rituals present—codes of conduct, both spoken and unspoken. It hadn’t slipped Ancano’s attention that those who served only ate after those seated were satisfied, and when he spotted one guest hook a finger through the ring on one of their collars, it occurred to him that perhaps they weren’t there just to serve food and drink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you could join us for the meal,” Adrianne said, smiling warmly at him as she sat in the armchair opposite. One of the serving girls stood by her side, a bundle of books and parchment in her arms. “You must have been famished after your long journey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve endured worse,” Ancano replied, smiling back in an attempt to soften just how true that statement was. “And I assure you, your warm hospitality more than made up for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Adrianne raised a brow, the corner of her mouth twitching—the kind of expression that told Ancano she saw through his attempt at flattery, but was reluctantly pleased with the gesture nonetheless. “We like to treat our guests well. Which brings me to the next part of the evening. Ingun?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl by Adrianne’s side stood alert. “Yes, Mistress?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Adrianne will do for this evening, dear. Don’t want to scare off our new guest, now.” She gave Ancano a warm grin. “You may sit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Adrianne.” With a small nod, Ingun took her place at the small table next to them, smoothing out the parchment and uncorking the inkwell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leading on from the introduction I gave you over dinner, I’d like to discuss with you in more detail what it is you want from this, and what you can expect from us all here.” Adrianne smoothed out her skirt, shifting in her chair until she looked satisfied. “Ingun will be taking notes during our chat—nothing with any kind of identifying information, so you need not worry about that. Merely a helpful reference, to inform everyone of anything that might be considered over the line.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Adrianne was, apparently, not one for small talk. A wash of nervousness crept over Ancano, his stomach churning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I understand this sounds rather intense,” Adrianne said, evidently sensing Ancano’s discomfort, “but it’s a necessity when engaging in the kinds of things we do. But I’m not going to back you into any corners, make you agree to or say anything you don’t want to. We take this conversation at your pace, not mine. Speaking of which,” Adrianne said, retrieving something from her belt pouch, “this brings me to the first major thing I need to cover.” She held a ball in her hand—silver and moonstone, gleaming in the dim candlelight. “Within the Sanctum, we have something that’s known as a safeword. It’s used when someone needs to put an end to the scene they’re in, no questions asked.” She leaned forward, giving Ancano her full attention. “Given the kind of elements we play with, it’s an essential tool. And, when we are unable to speak—whether through physical or mental means—we use objects in their stead.” She gave the ball a gentle shake, and it chimed, soft and soothing. “I mention this at present, because while it’s generally used most within scenes, it can also be used in conversations. And, given the nature of the conversation we’re about to have, I think it’d be prudent to have a safeword in place, should you need to use it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Understood,” Ancano said, shifting in his chair. “What’s the word?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, the one I and some others use is </span>
  <em>
    <span>ebony</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Adrianne said, rolling the ball in her hand. “Ingun here uses </span>
  <em>
    <span>nightshade</span>
  </em>
  <span>—she’s our resident alchemist.” She handed the ball to Ancano. “You may choose any of these, or your own word—it can be anything, as long as you can remember it and say it clearly when required. And, as you’re new, words such as ‘stop’ or ‘mercy’ will be treated the same way, unless you explicitly ask for them not to be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The idea of asking anyone to stop and having them obey without question was utterly alien to Ancano, and he had his doubts about how effective it would be. Still, it was clearly a question Adrianne expected to be answered, and Ancano wasn’t about to fail so soon into proceedings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Moonstone,” Ancano answered, after a moment. It was hardly original or meaningful, merely the first word that entered his mind, but it fulfilled the requirements.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Adrianne nodded. “A fine choice.” In his periphery, Ancano saw Ingun make the first mark of ink against parchment, her quill writing out </span>
  <em>
    <span>moonstone</span>
  </em>
  <span> in neat, loping letters. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can begin. Ordinarily I would ask what brought you here in the first place, but given that your situation is… less than orthodox, I’m going to take a different approach.” She folded her hands in her lap, and it was strange, Ancano thought, how she could be commanding yet comforting at the same time. “Drevis has given me the broad strokes of your situation, as well as bringing some material along that I believe you might be familiar with?” She raised a brow. “Quite the collection. I’m curious to know where you found them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here and there,” Ancano replied, terse. While Adrianne was friendly and reassuring enough, there were still things Ancano wasn’t prepared to disclose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I won’t pry. About where you procured the books, anyway.” Adrianne looked at Ancano, and there was something probing in it, something that made him feel exposed. “My next question may be quite personal, and please feel free to tell me if it is, but it would help things immensely to know the answer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Proceed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The books. They all seem to have a common theme, so what I would like to know is—what exactly do you like about them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It should have sounded like a judgmental question, but there was no condemnation in Adrianne’s voice, only detached curiosity. Still, it was a difficult question to answer, even to himself—why </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> he like the things that he liked? Years of being told what he liked was wrong, and a thousand failed attempts at burying his desires had only resulted in him feeling like he was so broken he was beyond fixing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—I’m not sure I can answer that, quite yet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Adrianne nodded. “Understood. I assume this is a difficult subject for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A laugh escaped Ancano, brittle and devoid of humour. “Difficult doesn’t even begin to cover it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Being here, committing to this—” Concern was writ large on Adrianne’s face. “Is that something you’re comfortable doing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano thought for a moment. “I’m not entirely comfortable doing most things, as I’m sure you can ascertain.” He tried to laugh, but it just came out as a hollow wheeze, which did little to put either party at ease. “But… I want to be here. I want this.” He ran the sleeve of his robes between thumb and forefinger, grasping for the words. “I’m just… there are few situations in life I am not at least somewhat prepared for, and this happens to be one of them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your first time at an underground, illicit gathering?” Adrianne grinned, amused. “Colour me surprised.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Auri-El help Ancano, he was beginning to warm to the woman. “Yes, I’m afraid my line of work doesn’t offer me many opportunities to engage in this sort of thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure that’s putting it lightly,” she said, brow raised. “If you’re comfortable doing so, perhaps I can share my assumptions about what you might find gratifying about the books you enjoy, and you can tell me if I’m correct?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought of laying himself bare still made Ancano uneasy, but this would be far easier than attempting to untangle the knots of his mind. “That sounds agreeable enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very well. One of the elements all of these stories have in common is an Altmer taking a submissive role, so can I assume this is something you would be interested in?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ancano nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. Now, submission holds a different appeal for different people. Some people like the relinquishment of control, the more passive role they get to play in events. Others like being able to obey commands, to perform well. Some like to be told what to do because they give that privilege to their Dominant, and want to be seen as on a lower sort of level, if you will. And others still want to be taken care of, giving the power to their Dominant because they believe they know best.” Adrianne looked at Ancano, as if trying to gauge his reaction. “Do any of these ring true for you, do you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—I think all of them do,” Ancano admitted, flushing furnace-hot. “Sometimes at the same time, sometimes separately, but… yes. That’s about the size of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And as for some of the other elements within these books,” Adrianne said, gesturing to the table Ingun sat at, “I’ll go through the ones that stood out to me, and ask some questions.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something strangely clinical and detached about the way Adrianne handled this, although it was a routine sort of conversation—her demeanour somehow both invested and indifferent, Ingun scribbling down notes in the background.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All of the characters are male. Am I correct in assuming you have a marked preference for, or are exclusively attracted to, men?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Correct. Exclusively so.” While Ancano could understand the aesthetic appeal of women, they had never affected him in quite the same way men did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I’m also guessing a large part of the appeal of these books is that the characters in the Dominant role are man or beast, rather than mer?” When Ancano nodded, Adrianne continued. “Is that something you would want touched on explicitly?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not certain.” Ancano shifted in his seat. “It is part of the appeal, but this is something…” Ancano looked at the ball in his hand. “It’s a touchy subject, and not one I currently have an answer for.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No problem. We can start at the bottom, work things out from there.” Adrianne’s expression hardened slightly. “There was one other theme I noticed—within a lot of the stories, the Altmer is being taken against his will. While this kind of roleplay is something we dabble in from time to time, it is done so with the understanding that it is exactly that—roleplay—and can be stopped at any time. As mentioned over our meal, consent is absolutely paramount here.” Her brown eyes bored into Ancano again, demanding he listen carefully to everything she said. “It is also an extremely demanding form of play, and one that can take a massive mental and emotional toll on all parties involved. With this in mind, it is something that is considered ‘off the table’ for you at present, for your own wellbeing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something in Ancano rankled at the thought of being coddled in this manner. He was more than capable of speaking for himself, deciding what he could and could not handle. Except, when he moved to say that, he found he couldn’t form the words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps Adrianne had a point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For the next part, perhaps it’s better if I give you a tour of the Sanctum as I ask questions, hm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stood, Ingun joining them with her parchment now set on a writing board. Every time Ancano thought he’d seen all of the space’s interior, more seemed to sprawl out to present itself. The size was staggering; far larger than the exterior would suggest, far larger than he had expected. It easily housed over a dozen people most weekends, complete with kitchen, pantry, bathhouse and study. There were, to his relief, private rooms—simple affairs, furnished with large beds and numerous blankets—as well as the main area, descending from the dining area. There was a bed here, too, along with many, </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span> other things—some of which excited Ancano, others which made his stomach lurch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They passed each of these stations, Adrianne asking questions and Ingun noting down the answers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No floggers or whips—other instruments potentially acceptable. Strikes on thighs and buttocks only—none on back or feet. No knives, no blood, no magickal restraints or pain. No public play. Yes to ropes, leather restraints, hand spanking, plugs. Possible yes on wax and blindfolds—check in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time Adrianne had finished showing him around and asking him myriad questions, Ancano found himself exhausted, and failed to stifle a yawn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Apparently the journey here took a larger toll than expected,” Ancano said, immediately furious at himself for succumbing to something so surmountable as fatigue. “However, don’t mistake that for disinterest. I’m still eager to begin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. You aren’t doing anything this evening except getting a good night’s sleep.” Adrianne folded her arms. “Even if you weren’t tired, I’ve just given you a lot of information to take in, and I want to be sure you’re in the best condition physically and mentally before doing anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been bedded in worse states than this,” Ancano said, surly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure that’s true, but that isn’t how things are done here. And that,” she said, gesturing for Ancano to take a seat, “brings me to the final thing I want to discuss with you. One of the most important things, too.” She sat down too, perching on the seat’s edge. “I understand that you likely have a higher level of physical and mental fortitude to most, owing to your vocation and your heritage. That doesn’t mean you’re impervious to harm, or to the effects of what we do.” She tapped the arms of the chair for emphasis, nails tapping against wood. “Hear this, and hear this well. What we do here is intense, even if it doesn’t appear so. It offers many benefits, but with it, it brings its own pitfalls. That means, after a scene, you’re going to get taken care of whether you like it or not. What that entails is up to you, of course, but it is mandatory and you will do it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of all the things Ancano had been ordered to endure, tenderness had never been one of them. “I will take your word for it, Adrianne.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excellent.” Adrianne clapped her hands, rising from her seat. “Ingun, leave the notes on my desk.” She turned to Ancano, gesturing for him to stand. “Now, let me show you to your room.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Pirate King of the Abecean</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Finally, there be smut! Check the end notes if you want to know what kinda content this chapter has.</p>
<p>A huge thanks to Mim for beta-ing this chapter for me! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Sanctum’s amenities, while spartan, had proved more than adequate—enough food to sate his appetite, a repurposed boiler tank that served as a surprisingly effective bath, and a bed in which he slept more soundly than he had in months. The following morning had given him the opportunity to get to know its denizens a little better; some still regarded him with obvious contempt, but others had thawed slightly, happy to let him into the exclusive and illicit guild they were a part of. He would have pitied them for being so naive and trusting, if he hadn’t also been putting himself in a position of immense danger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He headed inside the city walls in the afternoon, planning to get his one necessary ablution performed as quickly, and visibly, as possible. As cities went, it certainly wasn’t anything to write home about—better than Winterhold, certainly, but given that the town was one bad storm away from being nothing but rubble, that wasn’t saying much. A few cramped looking houses, something that barely qualified as a marketplace, a blacksmith, an apothecary, and a general store. Hardly the beacon of commerce that everyone talked it up to be. The tree that Savos had sent him to retrieve a sample of was even more disappointing—nothing but a dead husk, its knotted grey branches spindling out like a hag’s wizened fingers. The priestess didn’t look terribly happy when Ancano told her as much, but broke him off a long, withered twig nonetheless, sending him on his way with a reluctant thank you.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he arrived back at the Sanctum, just as the sun was beginning to set, the change in atmosphere was palpable; its inhabitants milled around, setting up equipment or tending to other guests’ drinks. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Bosmer on his knees beside a particularly severe looking woman, her fingers working lazily through his hair as his head rested on her lap. It now looked much more like the den of iniquity Ancano had first expected it to be, and he wasn’t sure if that thought was comforting or terrifying.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, he wasn’t given time to ponder. A man approached him, two bottles of mead in hand, his auburn hair like flames under the flickering candlelight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not often we get a Thalmor in our midsts,” he said, grinning easily. It wasn’t an accusation so much as detached, amused observation, and that alone was enough to throw Ancano for a moment. “Care for a drink?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ancano raised a brow, aiming to project confidence. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to hear.” He handed the corked mead to Ancano, then took a long swig of his own, throat bobbing as he drank. “Savour it, because it’s the only one you’ll get this evening. That is, if you want to partake in the festivities.” Smiled at Ancano again, green eyes glinting mischief, and oh, how that made his stomach flutter. “I’m Brynjolf, by the way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ancano extended his hand, shaking Brynjolf’s with a firm grip. “Ancano.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A pleasure,” Brynjolf said, voice lilting and low, and it spread through Ancano like sunshine. “Shall we grab a seat?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d had me brought to his quarters, trussed up and led like a dog lest I dare to make my escape into the murky waters of the Abecean.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ri’soud had become captain of the ship the same way he’d got me into his chambers: by force, assisted by a motley crew of pirates and brigands. Clearly, the Khajiit was no stranger to taking things that didn’t belong to him—the myriad gold rings lining his large ears and the gemstones glittering on his fingers were proof of his successful plunders, and the long scar that lined his face was proof that he was no stranger to fighting for what he wanted.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No sooner was I flung onto the bed like a sack of potatoes than Ri’soud was upon me, slitted eyes dilating into void-dark circles that eclipsed the gold. I saw my own face reflected back to me, flushed and fearful; scented the mead and moonsugar lingering on his breath.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Such a pretty thing,” he purred, winding a strand of my hair around his furred finger. His claw extended to scratch gently across my cheek, raising gooseflesh in its wake. “This one thinks he has found the most valuable treasure on this ship.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>By now he was crouched across my lap, tail swishing, whiskers twitching with amusement. Auri-El forgive me, for he had noticed my burgeoning interest, and suddenly his muzzle was pressed to my lips, tongue coaxing inward, and I’d have pulled him closer if my hands weren’t helplessly bound.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man in front of Ancano was distinctly not Khajiit. Nord, if he had to guess—too tall and stocky to be Breton, too pale to be Redguard or Imperial. He was, however, an extremely fitting choice for a pirate captain: he carried himself with the kind of cavalier swagger one might expect from a man who garnered his riches by questionable means. His auburn hair was tied into a loose ponytail, strands brushing across Ancano’s skin as he had bound him in rope, his voice drawing Ancano into a warm, placid space in his mind. It felt strangely ritualistic, being tied up—feeling the woven rope coil around his body like a snake, binding his arms and legs together, with just enough give for him to feel the strain when he pulled against them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had expected to feel helpless, being tied up, and he did—and wasn’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> that</span>
  </em>
  <span> interesting, the way it made a thrilling sort of desire spike deep in his stomach—but he also felt held, the contact of the taut rope against his skin gripping him like a desperate lover. It grounded him; gave him something he could feel as he squirmed, never allowing him too much escape from the physical.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Definitely don’t get many hauls like this,” the captain mused, running his thumb across Ancano’s wet lips. “So gorgeous, so responsive…” He raked his fingers through Ancano’s hair, gently scratching his scalp, and Ancano shivered, a pathetic whimper escaping him. It had been too long. “I bet you sing so pretty when someone takes you apart, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ancano panted—Auri-El help him, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>panted</span>
  </em>
  <span>—throbbing against the pressure of the man straddling him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How long has it been, I wonder?” The captain thumbed Ancano’s tunic, running the laces through his fingers. “Since someone last had you—really had you, I mean. Someone who learned to map out every last inch of you, finding out just what things to do to make you come undone.” Loosened them, stroking gently at Ancano’s exposed chest. “When was the last time? Weeks? Months? Years?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Never,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ancano thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not once in the one hundred and forty seven years I’ve been alive.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t say it out loud, but he doubted he needed to. Not when he was like this—already hard as iron, straining against his breeches and the strong, muscled thighs of the captain. Utterly desperate, wanting nothing more than for this man to have his way with him, heat prickling across his skin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“However long it’s been, it’s been too long,” the captain purred, breath ghosting Ancano’s ear. “I could show you just how good that feels, if you’ll let me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It—” A finger ran across the tip of his ear, and the intensity of the sensation knocked the breath from Ancano’s lungs. “Doesn’t seem like I—uh—I have much of a choice—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm?” The captain looked down at Ancano indulgently. “And why might that be?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You, ah—” he exhaled again, completely overwhelmed by every tiny brush or touch of breath against skin. “Commandeered this ship.” Ancano rarely had trouble articulating himself, but he was struggling now, head swimming. “Commandeered me. Tied me up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that?” The captain grinned. “All for show. Got to keep up appearances when you’re a pirate.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, the ruby on his finger glinting in the light. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret, lad. I didn’t commandeer anything. Me and the former captain simply struck up an arrangement. And you,” he said, giving Ancano a knowing look, “can be untied any time you like. All you need to do is ask.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ancano stared back at him, disbelieving. Surely it couldn’t be that easy. Nothing was ever that easy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously. Just say the word, and I’ll let you go.” He smiled down at Ancano, emerald eyes glinting, two fingers hooking underneath the rope. “That is, if you want to be let go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course I want to be let go,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ancano wanted to snap back at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who in their right mind would choose to be captured?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Who in their right mind, indeed. None of this was something he should want, but it called to him nonetheless, refusing to be ignored—the pull of rope, the clutch of thighs, the scent of mead and man and tobacco all trapping him in place.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The captain looked at the ball clutched in Ancano’s hand, then back to meet his gaze—curious, questioning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ancano gripped it tighter, the only thing leaving his mouth a shaking sigh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm, that’s what I thought,” the captain said, slipping his fingers free of the rope. “Feels good, doesn’t it? To let yourself be helpless, let someone else take control.” Ran his thumb across Ancano’s clavicle, something reverent in his touch. “And I promise I can make you feel even better than this.” Placed a warm, wet kiss against his neck, and Ancano felt like he was melting, desire spreading through his entire body. “Would you like that, lad?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The noise Ancano made in response was something wretched.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Going to need you to be a bit more specific than that,” the captain murmured, breath hot, and Ancano felt like he was absorbing the words through his skin rather than hearing them. “Do you want me to keep going?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ancano breathed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Starvation was something Ancano was acutely familiar with, but when the captain kissed him again it was something else entirely; the first rain after drought, flooding parched earth. The captain’s lips against his, soft and mead-sweet, tongue gently coaxing Ancano’s mouth open. The scratch of stubble against his skin, tempering the tenderness, giving him something to cling on to as he drifted. The captain’s hand in his hair and on his cheek, brushing his sides and chest, grazing gently as he sought out which areas would make Ancano moan into him. Every time he did, he could feel the captain’s mouth curl into a smile, moaning back with a rumble that reverberated through his entire being.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Godsdamned gorgeous,” he said, voice thick with lust, thumb gliding across Ancano’s spit-slick lip. “All flushed and breathless already.” Ground against Ancano, thick length pressed against his, only the thin fabric of their breeches between them. Slowly, he pulled up Ancano’s tunic, fingers tracing across the bare skin of his stomach and chest, every touch impossibly gentle. “I wonder if I could make you come just like this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Again, those clever fingers worked, grazing their way up his sides, feather-light. It was an exquisite sort of agony; too soft, too diffuse, a touch that made sparks dance through his body. Everything felt heavy, like the atmosphere before a storm—air leaden with intangible energy that you could taste on your tongue and feel roll across your skin. The captain ran his thumb over Ancano’s nipple and a pained, desperate sound ripped from his throat, sensation spiking into something near-unbearable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet I could,” he mused, shamelessly raking his gaze across Ancano’s exposed torso. “But I have other ideas.” He climbed off Ancano, shifting down the bed to fondle him through his breeches, and Ancano didn’t know if the firm touch was relief or torture. “Shame to keep something like this all hidden away, don’t you think?” This time, he didn’t wait for an answer. Just untied the laces keeping Ancano confined, inching down his breeches and reaching inside his smallclothes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking criminal, is what it is,” the captain growled, clutching Ancano’s length and making stars swim in his vision. He was achingly hard, straining in the captain’s hand, throbbing with each small squeeze. “Beautiful cock like this, made to be enjoyed.” Ran his thumb over the head, where Ancano was already leaking obscenely, smearing slick all over. “Look at you. Absolutely desperate for it, aren’t you, lad?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Strange, how a question could drip with condescension and desire at the same time, and it made the arousal in Ancano spike furiously. He had never felt anything quite like this—something that made need burn through him, only serving to feed the fire when it was sated. The captain loosed his grip, letting Ancano’s length fall against his stomach with a loud slap, and dipped down to bury his nose in the juncture between crotch and thigh. Ancano thought he might suffocate. It was so much, </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> much, and somehow nowhere near enough. Wet kisses pressed against his skin, his mouth seeking out every last inch of Ancano, and it was utterly maddening how it avoided exactly the one place he wanted it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Delicious, the way you squirm like that,” the captain purred, licking a hot stripe up Ancano’s stomach, mere inches away from his length. His hot breath ghosted against his skin, and the contrast of heat against the now-cool trail of saliva on his skin was overwhelming. “All tied up in my rope, letting me enjoy you, and you’re enjoying it too, aren’t you?” Kissed again, and again, and again, achingly gently, then sucked firmly on Ancano’s inner thigh, hard enough to bruise. “And you could enjoy it more, have my lips wrapped around that pretty cock of yours, let me take you into my mouth and down my throat—” he said, voice hoarse, “—you could have it all, pretty thing, whatever you want. You just have to ask.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Want it,” Ancano said, before he could think about what he was saying.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, now. Manners cost nothing,” the captain said, smirking. “Ask nicely.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fury bubbled up in Ancano. That this man had the sheer audacity to patronise him in this manner, as if he were a naughty child, was infuriating; that it only made him harder was worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another kiss pressed against his stomach. “I can do this all day,” the captain murmured, low and dark. “Savour you, as slow as I like.” He scraped a nail down Ancano’s side, unhurried, to punctuate his point. “Leave you a shaking, leaking mess. Maybe I’ll get myself off as I watch you writhe in your binds, then just leave you there.” He looked up at Ancano, brow arching deviously. “Or you could use that pretty mouth of yours to ask for whatever it is you want, and maybe if you ask nicely enough, I’ll give it to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rarely, if ever, in Ancano’s life had merely asking for something resulted in him getting it. The concept was as foreign as the country he was in, with its brutal weather and bitter ale and pirate captains who made him want to be tied up and held captive. But he’d been given everything he’d asked for so far, and gods, he wanted it—needed it, more than anything he’d ever experienced.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Ancano breathed, shuddering with tension. “Please, take me in your mouth—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, what?” The captain’s eyes glimmered with sadistic glee. “Address your superiors properly, lad.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It should have made Ancano incandescent with rage, but there was no room; consumed wholly by raw, base need.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, Captain,” and the words rolled out of Ancano’s mouth effortlessly, like he’d been waiting a lifetime to say them. “Please, please, please,” and then the captain’s hand wrapped around his length as his lips pressed against its head, lapping at the wetness leaking from it, tonguing gently. Involuntarily, Ancano’s hips jerked, pushing himself into the captain’s mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d thought he hadn’t been all that fond of being pleasured this way; he preferred to give than to receive, and previous partners’ efforts had been somewhere between mediocre and futile. All technique and no real passion, only seeking to offer a very temporary relief. This was something different, something that made unholy noises pour from Ancano’s throat; slick tightness and gliding heat, a mouth that felt like it was made for him, and already he felt himself close to release, balls hitching upward and length throbbing against the captain’s tongue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I, ah—” Words were nigh-impossible, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “Can’t— won’t last—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d expected the captain to stop, snatch everything away at the last moment. Or something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that wasn’t him sucking harder, taking him in further, tongue lapping and head bobbing with sheer ragged determination. Nothing on Nirn could have stopped him spilling over then, into the captain’s wanting mouth, his stubble scratching gently at Ancano’s thigh as he drained him of every last drop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ancano was still straining against his binds and shaking through the aftershock of his climax when he felt the captain climb up next to him, brushing stray hairs free of his face and kissing him deeply. The taste of his own seed was overwhelming, flooding his mouth; it should have been repulsive, but instead it made him ache, arching against the captain as they moaned into each other. He was half-hard again already, somehow—body reacting of its own volition as the captain’s tongue brushed against his, teeth nibbling softly at his bottom lip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking delicious.” The captain broke the kiss to work his way along Ancano’s jaw to his ear. “Makes a man want to retire, keep you all to himself, enjoy you like this every single day,” he murmured, and the heat in his voice made Ancano grow even harder. Wet, warm lips pressed against the shell of Ancano’s ear, the captain’s breaths coming out in hot, urgent pants, and something about how much the man wanted him—desperate, unabashed, just as fervently as he did—made him feel as if he were ablaze, a fresh surge of desire pulsing through his body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Perhaps you could be this one’s pet, ariit,” Ri’soud purred, pumping my length in his furred hand. “See how it feels to turn the tables, hmm?” He leaned forward, textured tongue lapping at my nipple as his free hand roamed across my chest, claws raking red lines into the gold of my skin. Pain and pleasure, all at once, and I grew harder in his grip.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now I knew what it was to be captured, to be owned. Not bound by rope or by fear, but by the primal, base desire coiling in my loins. Was I truly no better than an animal, so single minded and needy, consumed by heat?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My mind insisted otherwise, but my body knew it to be true.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ri'soud will be gentle with you, since this is your first time with Khajiit,” he said, sharp teeth glinting dangerously. “Let you see this one’s barbs before you feel them.” Retrieving a bottle of oil from his pocket, he uncorked it with his teeth, pouring it over my member with reckless abandon. His hand clasped around it, fur slickening as he worked the oil in, eventually stopping to sink his fingers into his arse with a contented hiss.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ancano doubted the captain needed the warm-up. He sank onto his own fingers with a practiced ease, exhaling softly as he pumped himself open, and it felt intrusive to watch, even though he was clearly doing this for Ancano’s benefit. Even if he wanted to look away, he couldn’t; the captain was nude from the waist down, breeches thrown to the side without a moment’s thought, a smattering of auburn chest hair visible through the loosened neck of his tunic. His skin shone with sweat, hair tousled and escaping from its ribbon, his free hand pressed to Ancano’s sternum. He thrust his fingers deeper, doing something that elicited a growl deep from his chest, and the captain’s length bobbed in his periphery, head poking free of the foreskin and slit leaking obscenely onto Ancano’s stomach.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” the captain sighed, pulling his fingers out and wrapping his now-free hand around Ancano’s erection. Eased himself down, entrance flush with the head, sinking onto it with a slew of curses hissed through his teeth. Rolled his hips, clearly savouring the feeling of being filled, and while Ancano wished he was the one being penetrated, he couldn’t deny how blissful this felt: the slick, velvet heat of the captain, almost molten, pulling him in like he couldn’t get enough. Another shaky sigh came from the captain as he ground down and took himself in hand, and with one final movement he took Ancano to the hilt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing felt real, and yet Ancano failed to recall a time where he had felt anything in such lurid detail—thighs flexing, clasping around him, the scent of sweat and salt, and after a while everything blurred into one, push and pull, sure as the tides. Ropes holding him, cradling him; the metal ball in his hand an extension of himself, chiming gently with every motion the captain made. Nothing in nearly the century and a half he’d been alive had been close to this; not any of his time serving the Thalmor, nor the countless hours of meditation and communing with Auri-El. This was something transcendental and otherworldly, and perhaps that was why he wasn’t allowed to have it; to be something as flawed as mortal and be able to reach out and touch the divine, simple as breathing…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You really were made for this, weren’t you?” The captain’s hand splayed across Ancano’s chest, and the tenderness in his touch contrasted with the rough heat in his voice. “Could scour the whole of Tamriel and—” he exhaled, arching as he pushed down, pulsing around Ancano’s length, “—ah, never find a cock as fucking spectacular as this one.” Worked himself faster, rutting into his spit-slick fist as he rode Ancano, using him wholly for his own pleasure. The rings on his fingers caught the light, jewels glinting like they were something living, and that was when the realisation hit him; he too was another of the captain’s possessions, no longer a living entity but a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, made to be wrung out and used up and defiled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The revelation should have been abhorrent, but it set Ancano on fire.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Each movement was something overwhelming, burning him up from the inside; every pull and tug of the captain grinding down onto him slowly drawing out the want. The captain’s fist moved in tandem, clasping and twisting around his erection, and Ancano ached to touch it, to know how it felt pulsing in his hand, his mouth. Still the ropes clung to him, not allowing him what he truly wanted, and all he could do was watch and writhe and </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t thought it possible—the body had its limits, after all, even if it was a body of supposedly superior breeding—but he could feel the tension building within him, hurtling closer with each movement and breath and moan. It was unstoppable, inevitable; something all-consuming and cavernous, and he grasped the ball in his hand for dear life—concrete and tangible in a way that his growing desire wasn’t. The captain looked down at him, all heat, fist working ruthlessly as he chased his own pleasure, and as he came he </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeezed</span>
  </em>
  <span> around Ancano, muscles gripping and convulsing as hot, pearly slick spilled onto Ancano’s stomach. It was enough to send him toppling over the edge, his own release ripping through his body like thunder. So much, </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> much, and still the captain’s entrance seemed to grasp him, hard and relentless, milking him dry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was hard to know how much time had passed as Ancano shook through his orgasm, but when he came to the captain was running his thumb across his wet face, shushing him, murmuring something in his ear that his mind couldn’t parse but vaguely understood to be soothing. Words he was sure he knew, yet couldn’t place together; abstract shapes rather than something clear and legible. He shook harder, and it was only then that he realised the source of the wetness; something inside him fracturing, vulnerability escaping through the cracks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to fight it, run, find any way he could to force it all back in, but all he had the energy to do was lay there and let it happen, noiseless sobs wracking his body. The captain held him closer, smoothing his hair from his face and running his fingers through it, and the tenderness was a blunt force, widening the cracks to let more of himself pour through.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>More murmurs and word-shaped noises entered his consciousness, not yet taking form into something he could parse. Sounded more urgent, more firm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ancano.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That, he did understand, and the world slowly started to shift back into place. He looked up at the captain—no, he looked up at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brynjolf</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the man’s name suddenly shining clear in his mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you ready to be untied?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ancano responded, voice raspy and thin and foreign to his own ears. “If you would.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a few expertly placed pulls, Ancano was free, the rope falling limp and loose onto the bed. He already missed the tight, comforting embrace that they offered, but their imprint remained, looping around his wrists and thighs and ankles. In a way, it still felt like the ropes were there, intangible now but holding him in place nonetheless. He was loath to move. Wasn’t sure he ever wanted to move again, truth be told.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brynjolf’s hands smoothed over where the rope had been, rubbing slow, firm circles into the flesh. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A simple enough question, yet Ancano struggled to find an answer. He felt as if he’d been stripped to nothing and taken apart piece by piece, only to be rebuilt by kind, meticulous hands. He felt as if he’d walked through fire.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not sure that I can put it into words,” he said finally.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brynjolf smiled knowingly. “Aye, tends to be a bit like that your first time,” he said, pushing himself upward. “And your fourth, and fifth, and hundredth. Still dunno how to describe it, really.” He reached for a bowl by the side of the bed, its contents fragrant with lavender and juniper. “Mind if I clean you up a bit?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still so tender—his touch, his words. Ancano couldn’t grasp why. “Go ahead. You’re the boss.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The easy smile that Brynjolf had been wearing shifted into a stern frown. “No,” he said firmly. “Not anymore, I’m not. You’re the one calling the shots now, and I don’t get to do anything without your express permission, is that understood?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The words were, even if the sentiment wasn’t, and Ancano mumbled his acquiescence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.” He wrung out the washcloth, wiping it slowly across Ancano’s stomach and thighs. “We can run you a bath, when you’re feeling up to it. Let you get washed up properly.” Submerged the cloth back in the bowl, swishing it around in the heated water before beginning anew, and Ancano ached at how gently Brynjolf tended to him. Began to feel the ache everywhere else, too, seeping deep into his bones; the carriage ride, the position the ropes had held him in, the unbound tension of the past week and the sudden, overwhelming release. A tiredness like he’d never felt overtook him, and he lay dazed, watching Brynjolf clean him—forearms flexing as he rinsed out the cloth, rubbing it across Ancano’s skin in slow, tender circles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“S’nice,” Ancano eventually managed, the words escaping before he’d really had a chance to think about them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brynjolf looked up at him, smiling. “Glad. Can’t have you coming all this way for us to not take care of you.” Putting the cloth back in the bowl, he placed it back onto the table. “Speaking of which, there’s a jug of water there, as well as some food.” He gave Ancano a knowing grin. “Must be parched.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The urge to bite back something acerbic bubbled up, as surely as it always did—the difference was, Ancano didn’t have the strength or the mental wherewithal to even begin to act on it. Perhaps it was just as well. Everyone within the Sanctum had been faultlessly, infallibly polite—suspiciously so, in fact—and to throw their hospitality back in their face made Ancano rankle more than being needlessly pampered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” he said, shifting up, “it would be rude not to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The carriage ride home felt longer than it had on the way there. This time, they travelled through the night, and under the thick grey clouds and faint slivers of milky-pale moonlight, the landscape seemed to blend into an endless sea. The carriage rider was a morose, taciturn kind of fellow, and every so often Ancano would hear the man curse and mutter, seemingly to himself. Drevis sat next to him, eyes closed, utterly oblivious—how the mer could sleep so easily was baffling, not to mention profoundly annoying. He drifted deeper, head lolling onto Ancano’s shoulder, a thin strand of drool cascading down his cheek. Ancano returned the gesture by giving him a firm shove to his side of the carriage seat, attempting to shift into a more comfortable position on his own side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dawn had long since broke by the time they arrived in Winterhold, the chill morning wind biting at Ancano’s face. The ride had given him time to think—too much—and any pleasant feelings he’d had back in Whiterun had dissipated, leaving behind something hollow in their place. Perhaps this had all been a mistake—venturing halfway across the country in pursuit of, what, some sick and depraved fantasy he’d harboured? What had he hoped to achieve?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever it was, he had scratched that itch. It was a moment of weakness, nothing more; one that he assured himself he wouldn’t succumb to again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The College bathhouse was empty when Ancano entered, thank Auri-El—students and faculty already busy with lessons. With one vacant wave of his hand, the taps sprang to life, the marble tub filling with hot, fragrant water in a matter of minutes. It would be good to wash the remainder of this weekend from his skin, scrub the grime that no amount of poorly-heated mead tank bathwater could hope to remove.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ancano stripped down and stepped into the tub, sinking down and letting himself be submerged by the hot water. Plumes of steam rose from the water, its surface gently rippling with each move he made. The familiar scent of oleander drifted into his nostrils, sweet and subtle, and it should have felt like the closest thing he had to home—the one constant, there in every summer breeze until it was inseparable from Alinor itself. Instead, it made the pit in Ancano’s stomach grow, widening and yawning until he felt entirely hollow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling his knees to his chest, he held himself, trying not to remember the scent of lavender and slow, soft touch of damp cloth against skin.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTENT INFO: Rope bondage, light objectification, praise, pirate/captive roleplay (with an enthusiastically consensual twist!), blow jobs, anal sex, aftercare, little bit of subdrop.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! If you've enjoyed, please consider leaving a kudos or comment--I treasure every single one. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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